


no relief without the fever

by MistressEast



Series: After Hours at Leblanc [13]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Personas (Persona Series), Arguing, Bondage, Coitus Interruptus, Crossdressing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Gags, Illnesses, Light Angst, Lingerie, M/M, Miscommunication, Safeword Use, Sickfic, Vomiting, brief mention of partner sharing and mob/Goro, but it's just dirty talk, deep conversations about their relationship, implied top!Akira/bottom!Goro, there is no full sex scene in this im so sorry, they work it out dont worry, with the sappiest ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressEast/pseuds/MistressEast
Summary: He shouldn’t have let himself get so irritated, but, as always, Goro makes him forget himself. Anger, possessiveness, entitlement, jealousy—Akira’s worked his whole life to keep ugliness like that contained, keep it away from the people he cares about, but Goro, heedless and indelicate, drags them out into the light, over and over, putting it all on display until Akira has no choice but to confront himself—and Goro’s the only one—Sighing, Akira presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, letting the agitated humming of his body settle, until his skin feels a little less like it’s covered with ants.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Series: After Hours at Leblanc [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714768
Comments: 20
Kudos: 237





	no relief without the fever

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the first (and probably only) After Hours fic that doesn't feature a single orgasm! if you were hoping for something fun and sexy after the dramatic angst-fest of the last one, i am terribly sorry. i wanted to shake the formula up a little, so i'm giving everyone fair warning. i just couldn't resist the irony of publishing the only nonsexy part of the smut series during kinktober :)
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

“See? I told you you’d look great.” Akira teases the hem of Akechi’s pleated skirt with his toe, threatening to raise the fabric and expose Akechi’s ass. It would only take a slight lift, and Akechi’s underwear would be on display for Akira’s hungry stare. “I think you should make a permanent change to your uniform, Vice President Akechi.”

A shiver runs up Akechi’s spine and a muffled noise seeps around the red ball in his mouth. The gag is already shining with saliva.

Smirking, Akira retracts his foot from under the drape of the skirt and paces around to Akechi’s front, regarding him down his nose. The student council vice president makes for an attractive picture, kneeling barefoot on the floor of the student council room, wrists bound to his ankles with thick leather cuffs, dressed in a plaid Shujin uniform skirt that does nothing to hide the obvious bulge of his erection. In the fading sunlight drifting through the windows, Akira can make out the distinctive silhouette of a dark, lacy bralette through the flimsy fabric of Akechi’s white turtleneck, and he lets his eyes linger, licking his lips.

“I don’t think anyone would complain,” he continues, keeping his voice low and even, “if you showed up at school tomorrow wearing _this_.” Hands in his pockets, Akira lifts one foot again and presses the sole of his shoe between Akechi’s spread legs, right against the hard ridge of his cock.

Akechi jolts, a pitchy whimper squeaking out from behind the gag, before narrowing his eyes up at Akira, breathing heavily through his nose.

“What is it?” Akira grinds his foot gently, enjoying the way Akechi shakes underneath him, defiant gaze flickering as his eyes cross with pleasure. “You don’t want the others to see you like this?”

Dropping his head, Akechi trembles, and Akira catches sight of his fingers curling and uncurling where they’re trapped against the floor.

“I think everyone would love it. Show them that the scary vice president can cut back a little. And, of course—” hooking his toe under the hem of Akechi’s skirt, he flips it up, revealing the skimpy lace panties straining to contain Akechi’s rigid, weeping cock. “No one would mind this view.”

Sucking in a shallow breath, Akechi bucks his hips abortively, knees spreading wider.

“You like that?” Akira pulls his foot back, shifting his weight casually to one leg and watching Akechi squirm. “Thinking about everyone seeing you like this? Hard and leaking?”

Another shudder rattles through Akechi and he hums around the gag, blinking up at Akira again. This time his eyes are hazy, glittering wetly. Smiling, Akira bends down to take Akechi’s chin between his fingers, swiping his thumb through the saliva already dripping from the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll have to put your pretty little cock in a cage to keep you decent,” Akira purrs. “And stuff you with a plug to keep you full, hm? ‘Cuz no one’s allowed to fuck you but me.”

Akechi’s brows pinch together and he jerks his face out of Akira’s grip, turning his head to the side. Irritation flickers low in Akira’s gut, feeding the heat already pooling there.

“What—is that not enough?” Stalking around Akechi’s folded figure, Akira plants his foot square in the center of Akechi’s back and shoves hard. Unable to catch himself with his hands, Akechi hits the floor chest-first, cheek pressed the wood, and he lets out a muffled cry that melts into a strained groan as Akira grinds his foot against his spine. “Still don’t want people to know you’re getting fucked by the criminal trash every day after school?”

Akechi whimpers, tugging fruitlessly at his bonds.

“Still think you’ve got some pride?” Akira sneers, leaning his weight on Akechi’s back. “As if the whole school doesn’t know already. You hear what they say about you in the halls. The untouchable vice president is a _slut_ —can’t go a single day without a dick inside him.” A harsh breath stutters into Akechi’s lungs, ribs struggling to expand against the pressure of Akira’s foot, and Akira lets up a bit, tilting his head to enjoy the sight of Akechi’s round ass. “Even heard some of them planning to help you out with that.” A dark chuckle rumbles out of Akira’s chest. “Too bad I don’t share.”

With a final firm press, Akira lifts his foot, standing back to appreciate Akechi’s bowed posture. Akechi doesn’t try to sit up, gasping against the floor and shifting slightly in the new position. His toes curl under, propping his hips up slightly and Akira’s mouth goes dry as the pleated skirt rides up, exposing the lacey black vee of Akechi’s underwear, stark in contrast with his milky skin.

“Though if you really can’t stand me—” Akira sinks to his knees behind Akechi and skims his fingertips up the plush globes of his ass, eliciting a wounded mewl, “—I guess I wouldn’t mind letting a few of my buddies have a turn.” He runs a finger delicately along Akechi’s covered taint, snagging his nail intentionally on the tiny ridges of the lace. “As long as I get to watch.”

A violent quake rocks through Akechi and Akira moves both hands up to bracket Akechi’s hips, shuffling forward until he can nudge his clothed erection against Akechi’s ass. “Would that be better?” he coos, tugging Akechi gently back against his aching cock. Beneath his hands, even through the shirt, Akechi’s skin is blistering, and Akira can see a dark pink stain spreading up the back of Akechi’s neck and onto his face. “Letting the school delinquents each have their turn with you?” He ruts between Akechi’s cheeks, sucking in a sharp breath at the teasing friction. “I could just leave you here like this—all dressed up and ready—and tell them the vice president needs a word with them—” A wicked smile twists the corners of his lips. “I bet you’d love it—one in your ass and one in your mouth—finally satisfy you—”

Each languid rock draws a choked noise out of Akechi’s throat and Akira can feel fingers scrabbling at his pant leg, trying to claw into the fabric at an awkward angle.

“I could film it,” Akira suggests offhandedly, kneading his thumbs into the small of Akechi’s back as he drags the outline of his cock along Akechi’s ass. “You probably won’t be able to appreciate how you look in the moment—but you’re so vain, I know you’d like to see how pretty you are—”

Akechi shivers and turns his face into the floor, hiding his expression from Akira.

“Uh-uh—” Shuffling back, Akira seizes Akechi by the hips and rolls him over with a quick, fluid yank.

Letting out a surprised squeak, Akechi blinks dazedly, arms pulling instinctively at his cuffs as he settles on his back and Akira looms over him. His gaze is hazy, brows furrowed, and Akira’s eyes follow the flickering motion of his throat swallowing dryly.

“I wanna see your face,” Akira purrs, reaching up to cup Akechi’s jaw. The skin under his fingers is hot and already sticky with sweat and drool and Akechi screws his eyes shut at the touch, sucking in a deep breath. “Need to make sure you’re enjoying this.”

Spread around Akira, Akechi’s bent knees tremble, twitching tighter against Akira’s sides, and Akira trails his hands up Akechi’s thighs, fingering the hem of the skirt. The plaid fabric has fallen over Akechi’s crotch again, creating an obscene tent, and when Akira delicately tugs at it, Akechi’s hips jerk up, accompanied by a strangled hiss.

“That’s better.” Akira digs his fingers into the dense muscles of Akechi’s thighs, leering down at the vice president, flushed and writhing, sprawled beneath him. Akechi’s honey brown hair, usually so groomed and orderly, is splayed against the floorboards, his crown dark with sweat, his cheeks glowing red, and when Akira slides his hands in, framing the bulge under his skirt, Akechi’s arms tense, pulling uselessly against his bonds. “Fuck. Forget everything I just said—” Akira folds forward, breathing hot against Akechi’s bared throat, “—there’s no way I’m ever gonna let anyone else see this.” He seals his mouth just over Akechi’s pulse point, sucking hard at the salt and heat of his skin, and the shivers rocking through Akechi’s frame vibrate right into his teeth.

A hitched, chesty whine streams from behind the gag and Akira smiles against Akechi’s neck, bracing one arm over Akechi’s head while the other grabs for his hips, intending to yank Akechi against him, get some relief from the demanding tension in his slacks—but suddenly Akechi locks up underneath him, every muscle seizing still, and he barely has time to detach from Akechi’s neck before a series of dull thuds rings in his ears—

* * *

Akira jolts back, releasing Goro’s hip as Goro stomps again—three flat-footed slams against the hardwood, before his toes curl and he drags in a quick, shallow breath.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got you—” Concern niggling up his spine, Akira fumbles for the cuffs binding Goro’s wrists to his ankles. Even frazzled, he undoes the connection with a few rapid flicks and reaches for the second one as Goro instantly raises his freed hand to his face, digging his fingers under the band of the ball gag. This model has enough stretch to be tugged down over the chin without unbuckling it, and just as Akira releases the second set of cuffs, Goro succeeds in ripping the ball out of his mouth.

“Are you—”

Before he can finish, Goro is scrambling away from him, shoving himself to his feet and racing across the small apartment. Akira’s concern freezes into panic as his boyfriend stumbles into the small bathroom and he pushes upright, already bolting after him.

Heart in his throat, Akira catches himself against the doorframe just in time to see Goro hunch over the toilet, coughing into the bowl. “Goro?”

The only response he gets is a pained groan before Goro lurches forward with a choked retching sound.

Swearing softly, Akira hurries forward and kneels behind his boyfriend on the tile, combing his fingers over Goro’s temples to gather his hair away from his face. Using one hand to hold the loose ponytail, Akira wraps his other arm around Goro, bracing him as he empties his stomach into the toilet bowl.

Guilt threatens at the edge of Akira’s thoughts. Now, it’s obvious that the heat radiating off of Goro’s skin is unnatural, but earlier he never even considered… He should have been paying closer attention.

When Goro sits back slightly, gasping, Akira nuzzles against his shoulder. Goro swallows hard and reaches up with one trembling arm to flush the toilet.

“Should I call a doctor?” Akira asks.

Slumping, Goro pinches the bridge of his nose and Akira can feel his ribs expanding with deep, deliberate breaths. “No—no, I’m—ugh—”

Releasing Goro’s hair, Akira moves his hand around to press his palm to Goro’s forehead. “You’re definitely running a fever,” he murmurs. “How long have you been feeling bad?”

“I...I don’t know—” Goro drops his hand to his lap, eyes drooping closed. “I felt—a bit off today, but...I thought I was good to do the scene.”

Akira opens his mouth to ask why Goro didn’t tell him he wasn’t feeling well, but he bites the question back, pursing his lips. Now isn’t the time.

Smoothing his hand through Goro’s sweaty hair, Akira releases the buckle on the ball gag and slips it out from around Goro’s neck.

“Sorry,” Goro whispers hoarsely, glancing at the gag as Akira sets it aside.

Akira shushes him, running his hands soothingly over Goro’s shoulders. Goro looks like he has more to say, but then his eyes widen and he surges over the toilet again.

Akira stays put through the bout, holding Goro’s hair back and pressing close to Goro’s trembling frame.

After a minute, Goro spits with a disgusted hiss and hangs his head. “You don’t have to stay here—”

Akira cuts him off with another _shh_ and rubs calming circles between Goro’s shoulder blades. He can practically feel Goro rolling his eyes in response but another wave of nausea distracts him.

When Goro is once again slumped against the toilet seat, gasping and coughing past the rawness in his throat, Akira sits back a little.

“Wrists,” he requests.

Gingerly, Goro shifts around enough to offer his arms and Akira makes quick work of the cuffs, stroking his thumb fretfully over the faint red marks on both of Goro’s wrists in turn. Setting the leather straps aside, he turns his attention to Goro’s ankles, and Goro arranges his legs to give him better access. After a few efficient motions, the ankle cuffs join their mates, and Akira draws the backs of his fingers along the pale line of Goro’s calf.

“I’m gonna get up, okay?” he says quietly.

Goro waves a hand, exhaustion evident in every sagging line of his body, and Akira furrows his brows. With a last gentle pat, he stands and steps over to the sink. He fills a cup with water and places it on the floor in Goro’s eyeline, tucking Goro’s hair behind his ear as he straightens up.

“Yell if you need me. I’m gonna go take care of a few things.” Akira scans his boyfriend searchingly. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Goro croaks, one shaking hand reaching for the cup. “I’m fine.”

That’s obviously not true, but Akira can probably afford to leave him alone for a few minutes, so he gathers the cuffs and gag and dumps them in the tub for cleaning before leaving the bathroom, shutting the door quietly to give his boyfriend some privacy.

The attic apartment is still set up for their planned scene, a plug and a vibrator laid out on the dresser, ready and waiting, and Akira scowls at the toys before stashing them in their appropriate drawers. He grabs a pair of Goro’s pajamas and snags the blanket hanging over the back of the desk chair.

Rapping his knuckles on the bathroom door, Akira lets himself back in and Goro barely stirs where he’s hunched over the toilet again. Wordlessly, Akira sets the clothes on the edge of the tub and leans over to tuck the blanket around his boyfriend’s shoulders, covering Goro’s skimpy outfit and bare legs.

Goro mutters his thanks, pulling the edges of the blanket tighter around himself.

Back in the main room, Akira finishes cleaning up, scooping the bottle of lube off the floor and stashing it in the bedside table. The sun is almost completely down now, throwing nothing but fiery slivers across the wide floorboards, so he flicks on the bedside lamp as well as the floor lamp beside the desk, washing the room with a comforting golden glow. He turns down the sheets, and just as he’s pulling more pillows from a storage container under the bed, the distinctive sound of the toilet flushing emanates from the bathroom, followed by the hiss of the sink turning on.

After piling the pillows up at the head of the bed, Akira steals the waste bin from under the desk and swaps out the liner for a new one. Placing the bin in front of the bedside table, Akira blows out a sigh and crosses to the dresser to dig out some of his own loungewear. He’s still dressed in his commandeered Shujin uniform, after all.

Just as he’s stuffing the slacks and blazer into the laundry, the bathroom door clicks open and Akira hurries over to meet a very pale and unsteady Goro in the doorway. Cheeks flushed bright pink and hair hanging unkempt around his otherwise ashen face, Goro passes his discarded outfit to Akira, who tucks the bundle under one arm and offers the other to help Goro across the room.

Goro flashes him an irritated look, his usual edge dulled somewhat but still cutting. “I’m not that sick.”

Something about his tone tells Akira not to press the issue, so he backs off and goes to put Goro’s clothes in the laundry while Goro trudges across the room and sinks down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. The shirt Akira pulled was one of his own, a sweatshirt Goro likes to sleep in when it’s cold out, a size up to account for the wider breadth of Akira’s shoulders, and something about Goro’s slumped posture makes the fabric hang more than usual. Keeping one eye on his boyfriend’s unusually tiny figure, Akira pulls their first aid kit out of the wardrobe and snags a cooling pad.

“Here—” he settles beside Goro on the mattress and tears open the rectangular package. “We don’t have any fever medication right now, so let’s put this on to try and cool you down.”

Eyes downcast, Goro submits to Akira smoothing his bangs up and laying the sticky pad across his forehead. “I can probably pick up some medicine on my way back.”

Akira pauses in brushing Goro’s hair back into place. “Back?”

Goro’s eyes flick up to his, then sideways, taking in the sky past the window. “To my apartment. It’s not that late. The trains will still be running for a while.” He drops his gaze again and tugs at his cuff. “Just give me a bit to make sure I’m past the worst of the nausea and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

For a second, Akira can only stare. “You want to go back to your apartment?”

“It’s best that I do.” Goro scrapes his thumbnail along the ridges at the cuff of his sleeve. “I wouldn’t want you catching whatever this is.”

“Goro, did you forget that we were making out before the scene started?” Akira asks incredulously. “I stuck my tongue in your mouth. Not to mention, I had my fingers in your sweat and saliva just a few minutes ago. I think we’re past worrying about that.”

Goro twists his mouth to the side. “Regardless, it wouldn’t be fair for me to monopolize your time and space when I’m—” he cuts off, lips parted, brows furrowed in thought.

“When you’re what?” Akira prods, trying to temper the irritation sputtering to life in his chest.

Shaking his head, Goro turns slightly, angling his body away from Akira. “Nothing.”

Gritting his teeth, Akira leans forward to brace one elbow on his knee and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he says evenly, “—let me think. If you really want to be at your place—fine.” Akira sweeps his hand up to card through his frizzy curls. “It’ll be hard for me to get back here in time to open in the morning—but maybe I can ask Sojiro to switch with me—or—” he frowns at the floorboards in front of him, “—no, I should probably just tell him I won’t be able to make it. One of the part-timers can help out—it’ll be fine—”

“Wait—” Goro’s rasp draws Akira’s attention back up to his boyfriend’s puzzled face. “You want to come with me?”

“Yes?” Akira straightens up, dropping his hand from his hair to gesture at Goro’s disheveled state. “You think I’m just gonna leave you when you’re like this?”

“I’m not incapacitated,” Goro spits, and Akira feels his hackles rise despite his best efforts to stay calm.

“You don’t have to be passed out on the floor for me to worry about you,” he bites back. “You’re my boyfriend. Do you think I don’t care about you?”

“That’s not it.”

“Then, are you mad at me?” The guilt from earlier squirms out from under the irritation, bleeding hotly up the back of Akira’s throat. “I’m sorry—I should have noticed something was wrong, you seemed a little more resistant than we discussed, and I should have asked—”

“Did I say anything about that?” Goro’s eyes flash warningly, like they always do when Akira puts words in his mouth.

“No, but I’m still—”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re talking about—”

“Then why don’t you want me to come with you?” Akira demands, louder than he intends.

“Because the _point_ of going back to my apartment is so you don’t have to deal with me,” Goro fires back, words cracking at the edges from strain.

“Have I ever complained about _dealing_ with you before?”

Goro rolls his eyes, and Akira grinds his teeth. He was already frayed from the sudden crash of the scene ending so unceremoniously, spinning with anxiety and concern for his ailing partner, and now Goro is sitting in front of him acting like Akira is about to tell him to fuck off.

“I take care of you all the time,” he points out heatedly. “Why are you being so difficult about this?”

Goro breaks his gaze, jaw tight, staring silently out into the attic, and Akira swallows the burning ball of frustration congealing in his throat.

“Fine,” he snaps, shoving himself to his feet. “If you really want to leave, of course I’m not going to stop you.” He stalks across the room and roots around in the first aid kit. “I’m going to go pick up some medicine, just—” he snatches a paper mask out of the box and glances back at the bed, at his boyfriend’s rigid, drooping figure, “—lie down. You have time to rest until the last trains.” Turning away before Goro can respond, he stuffs the kit back into the wardrobe and loops the mask over his ears, bending the top around his nose bridge.

He keeps his movements deliberately clipped and brisk as he moves around the small apartment, gathering his wallet and keys. Ducking into the bathroom, he avoids looking at himself in the mirror, scrubbing at his hands with perhaps a little more force than necessary. The blanket he brought Goro is draped over the edge of the tub, and he snags it on his way out.

When he steps back into the main room, Goro is lying down, at least, under the covers and facing away from Akira. He doesn’t react as Akira throws the blanket across the foot of the bed and Akira doesn’t say anything, pacing away to shrug his coat on over his sweats, but he can’t keep himself from tossing a look over his shoulder as he heads for the entryway.

Even under the duvet, Goro’s shivering is obvious, long, sustained shudders that wrack his curled frame, and Akira pauses, lips pressed together.

His footsteps sound quietly on the creaking floorboards as he crosses back to the bed. Gathering the discarded blanket, he shakes it out, and, careful not to disturb the sheets, drapes it over his boyfriend’s trembling form. Goro doesn’t move, and Akira can’t see his face at this angle, but his breath stutters.

“I’m just going down to the konbini,” Akira says, voice short but soft, pulling the blanket up to Goro’s chin. Smoothing down the fabric compulsively, he can’t resist letting his touch linger on the peak of Goro’s shoulder. “Call me if you need something.”

After a second of icy stillness, Goro turns his face into the pillow, and Akira sees his head shift slightly with a small nod.

Throat tight, Akira leaves him behind, slides his shoes on, and slips out of the apartment.

Brittle February air ruffles his messy hair as he locks the café door and sets off down the street, but he’s too worked up to feel the chill, warmed by the constricting embers of frustration and anxiety, and he doesn’t even bother buttoning his coat. A few steps away from Leblanc, his feet stall, leaving him standing under a streetlight, staring unseeingly down at the pavement.

He shouldn’t have let himself get so irritated, but, as always, Goro makes him forget himself. Anger, possessiveness, entitlement, jealousy—Akira’s worked his whole life to keep ugliness like that contained, keep it away from the people he cares about, but Goro, heedless and indelicate, drags them out into the light, over and over, putting it all on display until Akira has no choice but to confront himself—and Goro’s the only one—

Sighing, Akira presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, letting the agitated humming of his body settle, until his skin feels a little less like it’s covered with ants.

Goro wanting to go home shouldn’t have nettled him the way it did. They’re both adults with jobs and apartments and despite the amount of time they spend in Akira’s loft, the amount of Goro’s clothes that have migrated into Akira’s dresser, the number of Goro’s hair products residing in Akira’s bathroom, and the unspoken division of laundry and cleaning and cooking, they _don’t_ officially live together. Goro doesn’t return to his downtown apartment often, but there are undeniably nights that Akira spends alone in his bed for whatever reason. Those nights are never easy, and Akira occasionally wonders if Goro sleeps as poorly as he does when they’re apart, but he doesn’t ask. He’s a little afraid to learn the answer.

Anyway, if Goro doesn’t want to be sick in Leblanc, fine. Akira isn’t going to fight him on that. But the fact that Goro only wanted to leave to separate himself from _Akira_? Just the memory makes Akira’s stomach tense. Goro never objects to Akira taking care of him after scenes, how is this so different? But of course, Akira didn’t ask _that_ , he just snapped at his feverish boyfriend and now he’s standing in the middle of the street with his hands over his eyes and his teeth clenched so hard it’s giving him a headache.

Grumbling wordlessly, Akira drops his arms and digs in his pocket for his phone, restarting his steps.

The phone rings three times before Takemi picks up with a sharp: “Calling me this late can only mean one thing. What did you do this time, guinea pig?”

Akira almost snorts, rounding a corner. “What do you think I’m calling about?”

“I don’t want to imagine the details of your kinky sex life,” Takemi fires back. “Are you or your boyfriend concussed, yes or no?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” Akira shoves his other hand in his pocket, finally feeling the chill of the air. “But it is your area of expertise.”

“You know my clinic hours.”

“I really don’t think he’s going to agree to come to the clinic.”

“Oh, boo hoo.” Akira can almost hear Takemi rolling her eyes. “So what’s his highness’s damage?”

Despite her outward disdain, she still doesn’t hesitate to help. A small smile rises to Akira’s mouth. “Pretty high fever, vomiting, weakness, chills.”

“Is he sweating?”

“Yes.”

“Have you given him anything?”

“I’m on the way to the store to pick something up.” As he speaks, the cheerful glow of the 24-hour convenience store comes into view at the end of the road. “I didn’t...I just wanted to make sure that would be okay.”

Takemi’s answering hum is very pointed. “Well, as long as he’s still coherent, some over-the-counter medicine should be fine. Get something that’s for both nausea and fever—safer not to worry about crossing drugs.”

Akira exhales in relief. “Thanks, Tae-san.”

“Keep an eye on the fever, keep him hydrated—you know the drill,” she continues, all business. “If he can keep down water, try some crackers or something. Nothing more substantial until the fever goes down a little. And if he can’t keep down water by morning, carry him over to me.”

Akira huffs, pausing beside the sliding glass doors. “Got it. Thanks.”

“Relax, guinea pig. It just sounds like a bug.”

Grimacing, Akira scuffs one foot against the ground. Some of his anxiety must be leaking into his voice because Takemi sounds as nurturing as she ever does. “Yeah.”

“Keep me updated.”

And before Akira can thank her again, she cuts the line.

The uneasy tension in Akira’s stomach isn’t gone, but it’s noticeably lessened as he tucks his phone away. Resolving himself, Akira adjusts his mask and heads into the store.

Garish pink and red decorations accompany him along the aisles, advertising chocolates and last-minute gifts for tomorrow’s holiday, and the reminder tugs Akira’s frown deeper. Originally, their Valentine’s plans involved the scene tonight (Akira’s choice), a bouldering session at the gym tomorrow after Akira got off work (Goro’s choice), and then dinner together afterward, but obviously they would have to postpone. Akira was looking forward to the occasion; their time together has been shorter lately, with Goro preparing to switch tracks at university and Akira in discussions with Haru about potentially partnering on her next business venture, but his concern for his boyfriend outweighs any disappointment he might feel at the derailment.

So he tries not to let the cheerful hearts and garlands get to him as he browses the pharmacy section.

After selecting a few different fever medicines and some more general pain pills, Akira tosses a box of heating/cooling pads into his basket and heads over to the drinks wall. They’ve got plenty of water, so he grabs some energy drinks. Then he collects a couple of boxes of bland crackers and heads for the register. If Goro feels like eating later, he’s already got the supplies to make rice porridge and a few types of soup, so he doesn’t need any groceries. That is, of course, if Goro stays that long.

On that sobering thought, Akira pays and heads back outside with his purchases.

The simple fact is that Akira wants Goro to stay at Leblanc. Maybe it’s selfish of him, but even when Goro isn’t sick, Akira feels better knowing that his boyfriend is where he can find him, knowing that he’s safe and taken care of, knowing that he’s in a place where people love him.

Maybe he’s just telling himself that, though, he wonders nervously, hurrying his steps along the street. Maybe he’s being too greedy and his desire to care for Goro is coming off as controlling. The last thing he wants to do is make Goro feel trapped.

At what point does his protection turn into a cage?

He isn’t any closer to an answer by the time he lets himself back into Leblanc. The café is dark and quiet around him as he stows the drinks in the fridge and carries the rest of the supplies up the creaky stairs. He steps deliberately on the noisy one to let Goro know he’s back and only hesitates a second before opening the apartment door.

It doesn’t look like Goro’s moved in the roughly thirty minutes he’s been gone, still curled up on his side, back to the rest of the room, and he doesn't stir as Akira rustles around in the entryway.

Akira juggles the shopping bags while he frees himself of his shoes and coat, shoving his mask in the pocket, and as soon as he’s dressed back down, he silently crosses the room. The bags crinkle softly as Akira deposits them on the floor, but Goro still doesn’t react, even when Akira carefully lifts the blankets and slides into the bed behind him.

His boyfriend is radiating heat and trembling faintly as Akira presses himself to his back, but he doesn’t reject the arm Akira loops around his middle. Akira might think he was asleep if it wasn’t for the faintest tensing of his spine as Akira nuzzles between his shoulder blades. The winter air left Akira’s nose and fingers stinging, and the furnace of Goro’s body is almost painful to the touch, but Akira savors it, pressing as close as he dares.

“I’m sorry,” Akira murmurs into the fabric of Goro’s shirt.

Goro’s chest expands with a slow, labored breath. “Don’t apologize,” he says hoarsely.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“I was being a brat.”

“That’s not an excuse. You’re always a brat.”

Goro grumbles something unintelligible and a wan smile turns the corner of Akira’s mouth.

“I’m sorry too,” Goro rasps after a second.

Sobering instantly, Akira curls tighter around his boyfriend. “Do you really want to leave?” he asks, voice low.

Goro doesn’t respond right away, shivering persistently in Akira’s embrace. Then he swallows roughly. “No.”

Akira breathes out a relieved sigh.

“But I don’t want you feeling obligated to take care of me,” Goro continues. “It’s always...this is always how it happens.”

Frowning, Akira pushes up on one elbow and leans forward to catch a glimpse of Goro’s face. His expression is half-buried in the pillow, hair shadowing his eyes, but the line of his lips is thin and bloodless, one hand plucking restlessly at the edge of the blanket. Gingerly, Akira brushes Goro’s bangs aside, fingertips lingering on Goro’s burning temple. “What do you mean?”

Goro’s brow furrows, eyes trained forward at the wall. “It’s always...you. Dealing with me. Isn’t it tiresome?”

It takes a second for Akira’s brain to sort through Goro’s words, and when it clicks, he shoves himself completely upright. “Goro—” he strokes through his boyfriend’s hair, “—dealing with you is the best part of my day. All I want, all the time, is to take care of you. You know that.”

“Yes, but that’s—” Goro’s mouth twists miserably, “—that’s just something people say.”

Akira’s heart skips unpleasantly. “Do you not believe me?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?” Akira waits, eyes glued to Goro’s pinched profile. “I don’t want to upset you while you feel so shitty, but, Goro, I’m really—”

“You—” Goro cuts him off, taking a shuddering breath, “—You don’t—anyone would get tired of it, right? Especially when I…” Goro’s shoulder bunches up, like he’s trying to hide himself, “—when I don’t give anything back.”

All of the air in Akira’s lungs freezes, icy needles prickling under his skin. “Do—” his voice cracks and he has to swallow, try again: “Is that really how you feel?”

The blankets rustle softly as Goro huddles tighter, bringing up one hand to lay flat over his face. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “Sometimes.”

The last slivers of frustration lingering in Akira’s stomach from their argument congeal abruptly, sinking like a stone. “Is that why you didn’t tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

Goro’s silence is all the response he needs.

Akira feels like he just stepped out onto a tightrope. Suspended in space, no safety net, no balancing pole, just his own two feet and the thin wire stretching endlessly before him. But Goro is on the other side. So he has no choice but to walk.

Gingerly lowering himself back to the mattress, Akira lays his forehead against the nape of Goro’s neck, right against the knob punctuating the top of his spine. Goro doesn’t react, passively letting Akira slip his arm over his waist. His boyfriend’s breaths are strained but even, and Akira lets a few pass by, listening, matching his own breathing to the familiar pattern.

“This isn’t a good time to have this discussion,” he admits carefully, after his heartbeat calms. “Tell me to shut up if you can’t stand it, but I—” biting his lip, he worries the hem of Goro’s shirt between his thumb and forefinger, “—you—you know I’m never happier than when I’m with you, right?” He swallows. “No matter where we are or what we’re doing. You’re the best part of my life.”

The muscles between Goro’s shoulder blades tense, and Akira feels the steady expansion of Goro’s ribcage falter slightly.

“When I say things like that—” Akira continues roughly, “—and when I take care of you, it isn’t...maybe it seems like I’m trying to push my love onto you. Like I’m trying to give you something, and you feel like you have to...trade something back.” Akira furrows his brows against Goro’s nape. “I’ve felt like that too. Sometimes I still do. But everything that I do...everything I give you or show you—” hesitation trips Akira’s tongue. This isn’t really a sweeping romantic declaration. It’s a depth he’s tried not to dwell in, wary of what might be waiting at the bottom. But Goro is motionless in his arms, listening, and he’s the only person Akira trusts down there. “It’s not even really for you. It’s for me.” He grimaces. “That sounds shitty, but I don’t know how else to put it. Keeping you here, taking care of you, cooking for you, making you coffee—it feels selfish. It feels like when I tie you up and fuck you. It feels like—” Akira’s hand inches forward, traveling along Goro’s crooked arm, until he can wrap his fingers around Goro’s slim wrist, “—shackles.”

Goro’s skin is scorching against his, and when Akira presses the pad of his thumb to the underside of Goro’s wrist, the willowy tendons flex under his touch.

“It’s all for my own gratification,” Akira murmurs. “But...but you love me.” The words are quiet but there’s no uncertainty in Akira’s voice. That part isn’t up for debate. “And so you take everything I give you. And when you...accept that part of me, these feelings I have...they stop being shackles. For me too. You make me feel...like I don’t have to hide any part of me, and that’s—” Akira eyes burn and he blinks hard. “You’re not the one doing the taking, Goro.”

When Goro doesn’t react for a long, suffocating second, anxiety curdles at the back of Akira’s throat, spilling out:

“I’m probably not making sense, but I just need you to know—you give me everything, Goro, just by being here—you’re everything to me, and I don’t really know how to say it well, but I just—I need you to know that, somehow, because—”

“Akira,” Goro croaks, and Akira snaps his mouth shut. In his grip, Goro’s wrist shifts, sliding down until Akira’s palm is resting over the back of Goro’s hand, their fingers slotting together. “It’s okay.”

Akira squeezes instinctively. “Goro—”

“I understand.” Goro swallows. “I understand.”

Relief drums up the ladder of Akira’s ribs, fluttering into his throat, and all he can do is lift his head and press his mouth to the back of Goro’s neck, tender against the flushed, feverish skin. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I love seeing you and talking to you and waking up with you next to me. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Goro’s voice sounds muffled, like it’s trapped at the back of his tongue. He breathes in hard through his nose. “And I want to let you take care of me, but—” he cuts off, but Akira doesn’t need to hear the rest.

“I know.”

“I should have told you I didn’t feel up to doing the scene, but you were so excited, and I—”

“It’s okay.”

“I made you feel guilty.” Goro hooks his thumb around Akira’s. “I always make you feel guilty.”

Under the blankets, Akira slips one leg between Goro’s, tangling them even closer. “I was just upset with myself for not noticing something was wrong.”

“You can’t read my mind, Akira,” Goro sighs. “I’m a very good actor.”

“Usually not good enough to fool me, though.” Akira smiles ruefully into Goro’s hair. “But you’re right. Neither of us did anything wrong, so we shouldn’t beat ourselves up.”

“Because we’re both so good at not internalizing blame.” Akira can feel Goro rolling his eyes.

“Will you stay here and let me take care of you?”

“Will it get in the way of your work?”

“If you’re up here, then I can still mind the shop.”

“Then I will stay.” Goro releases a long, tired exhale, somehow sagging in Akira’s arms despite being prone. “I didn’t really want to leave, anyway. I sleep better here.”

Akira’s heart leaps in his chest with the novel giddiness of a first kiss. “Really?”

Goro just grumbles unintelligibly and turns his face into the pillow.

“Maybe—” Akira’s mouth is moving before he can stop it, “—we should move in together.”

The steady expansion of Goro’s chest goes still as Akira’s brain catches up to what he just said.

“I mean—”

“Here?” Goro asks.

Cheeks warming, Akira hides his face between Goro’s shoulder blades again. “Maybe?” he says softly. “You spend most of the time here anyway. It wouldn’t take much to make it official. You’d save money, too.” It’s something Akira’s been considering for a while, but he certainly didn’t intend to bring it up under these circumstances, with Goro in such obvious discomfort, after the worst argument they’ve had in a long time. The words are out, however, and Akira can’t take them back, all of his attention honed in on his boyfriend’s silent form.

When Goro doesn’t respond beyond a fine shiver, Akira curses himself.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he confesses. “This isn’t the time to talk about it. Just forget I said anything—”

“Not now,” Goro rasps, cutting Akira off. He turns his head, shifting slightly on Akira’s grasp, and Akira leans back enough to catch the edge of his dark, fever-bright gaze. “Someday. It’s inevitable, but—not yet.”

Akira releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief slowing his pulse, and he tightens his grip on Goro’s hand. “Okay.”

Goro quirks an eyebrow. “You’re not disappointed?”

“Disappointed? You just said it’s inevitable we’ll be living together someday.” A smile spreads across Akira’s face, slow and sweet with the dawning realization. “I’m _ecstatic_.”

“But not _now_.”

“That’s okay.” Grinning helplessly now, Akira cranes his neck forward to press his forehead to Goro’s sweaty temple. “I can wait. Forever, if I have to.”

“Nobody’s _that_ patient.” And there’s a static to Goro’s voice, low and hissing, that Akira recognizes, and the corners of his mouth droop.

“I am,” he whispers, propping himself up on one elbow and meeting Goro’s eyes properly. “I am, Goro. Don’t you trust me?”

Goro swallows, throat bobbing sharply, and his eyes glitter in the lamplight. “I do.”

Akira hitches his smile back up. “Then there’s nothing to worry about, right?”

After an airless second, Goro ducks his head with a half-nod, and affection swells dizzyingly through Akira’s whole body, surging so strongly he has no choice but to dip down and pepper light kisses all over Goro’s burning face.

Goro endures it for a beat until finally unlacing their fingers to swat irritably at him.

“You really are trying to get sick,” he gripes.

Akira lays his cheek on Goro’s shoulder, stroking his freed hand up and down Goro’s arm. “If I do, I know you’ll lovingly nurse me back to health.”

“My schedule isn’t nearly as flexible as yours.” With a breathy groan, Goro rolls completely onto his back, wincing. “But I’d give it a shot. I’m not very experienced with that kind of thing, though.”

Akira’s smile softens, and he reaches up to card through his boyfriend’s messy hair. “Watch and learn, honey.” With a last kiss to Goro’s brow, right under the cooling patch, Akira pushes himself up. “Let’s start with some medicine and water. Did you get nauseous while I was gone?”

While Goro croakily describes his symptoms in better detail, Akira bustles around, getting the pills ready and flicking off the lights aside from the one on the nightstand. Then he helps Goro sit up and takes his temperature before handing over the medicine. Goro’s fever is high but not dangerous, and he didn’t throw up while Akira was gone, which is good.

“You need rest,” Akira advises, taking the water glass from Goro’s shaking grip. “If the nausea stays away, we’ll try some crackers in a few hours, okay?”

Sighing, Goro sinks back against the pillows.

Akira carefully switches out the cooling patch on his forehead for a fresh one, allowing himself to neaten Goro’s hair around his head. The gentle touch eases some of the discomfort evident in the pinched lines of Goro’s face, but his breathing is still strained. Even in the golden light of the bedside lamp, his skin is pallid and sickly, except for the livid spots of color on his cheeks, and the hollows under his eyes are almost alarmingly bruised. Akira’s heart gives an unpleasant pang.

“Do you think you can sleep?” he asks softly.

Swallowing with effort, Goro shakes his head minutely.

“Okay.” Akira trails the backs of his fingers along Goro’s jaw. “Let me get things in order and I’ll put on a movie.”

That seems amenable to Goro, so Akira stands and unpacks the rest of his purchases. He leaves the medicine within reach before ducking back downstairs to grab a water bottle from the fridge. Unscrewing the cap, he puts it on the bedside table and powers up the television on the bookshelf. After selecting a film, one of their favorites, Akira heads into the bathroom, deciding he may as well get ready for bed.

Goro is gazing drowsily at the screen when Akira returns, propped up on the pillows, and he doesn’t resist as Akira climbs over him to reach the other side of the bed and slides under the covers.

“Come here, honey,” Akira murmurs, shifting to get his arm under his boyfriend. With some gentle wiggling, he manages to get Goro pulled against his chest, resting his head in the dip of Akira’s shoulder. “Okay?”

“Mm.” Goro sinks against him, a burning slab of weight bearing him back into the pillows, and Akira nearly purrs, nuzzling into Goro’s hair. “I think you’re enjoying this too much,” Goro grumbles.

“I’m spending the night before Valentine’s Day in bed with my beautiful boyfriend,” Akira points out, wrapping his arms loosely around Goro’s chest. “And I’m going to keep him in bed all day tomorrow. Who wouldn’t enjoy that?”

“You think you’re funny.”

“I’m serious!”

“So you really wouldn’t prefer to be fucking me in a skirt right now?”

“I fuck you in a skirt all the time.” Akira settles firmly against the pillows. “We’ve never done this before.” Neither of them are prone to colds, and while Goro’s injury acts up in the colder months, it’s never enough to keep him in bed. “That last time one of us was sick was...hm.”

“You got food poisoning after going out with Ryuji,” Goro mumbles. “Remember?”

“Oh, right.” Akira grimaces. “I heard that ramen shop closed down recently.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

That had been a short-lived illness that mostly kept Akira confined to the bathroom while Goro sat on the other side of the door, finishing a paper. The memory of his boyfriend’s cool fingers tracing over his scalp that night pulls Akira’s hand up. Gently working through the small knots forming at the ends of Goro’s hair, Akira blinks absently at the film throwing jumping arcs of light across the bed.

“I love you.”

It’s almost lost to the low drone of the TV, but Akira’s ears prick like Goro just rang a bell. Clammy, trembling fingers tap at the back of the hand draped protectively over Goro’s middle, and Akira feels Goro’s head fall sideways, a burning cheek landing right over Akira’s thrumming heart.

“I love you,” Goro breathes again. “Please take care of me.”

The room blurs, tendrils of electronic light swirling into the dark panels of the walls, gauzy shadows bleeding over their edges, and Akira squeezes his eyes shut to keep the tears from dripping out. Swallowing thickly, he links his fingers through Goro’s and lifts their joined hands, pressing a tender kiss to Goro’s knuckles.

There are no words heavy enough to contain the promise Akira lays against Goro’s skin, but he knows Goro understands. In the end, he always does.

* * *

“Are my suspenders twisted?” Akira asks, craning his neck in an awkward attempt to peer over his own shoulder.

Goro glances up from tucking his shirt into his unzipped skirt, and the early evening light catches in his keen eyes like two matches striking simultaneously. “Yes.”

Akira tugs at the elastic straps, whining plaintively.

Shaking his head, Goro yanks his zipper halfway up to hold the skirt in place and pads on bare feet over to Akira, ankle cuffs clinking softly with each step. “Useless,” he grumbles, taking Akira by the shoulder and manhandling him around.

Akira goes easily, peeking back to watch his boyfriend studiously unclasp the strap attached to the back of his plaid pants. Deft fingers unwind the strap, and each fluttering fingertip brushing his spine sends goosebumps rippling across Akira’s skin. “Thank you, Vice President-sama.”

Goro fixes the buckle back onto Akira’s waistband and strums the strap once, snapping it sharply against Akira’s back. “Enough out of you.”

“Oh yeah?” Akira purrs, excitement revving in his chest as he spins and seizes Goro by the waist. “Or what?”

A coy smirk lifts one corner of Goro’s mouth and he curls his hands around the twin straps running down Akira’s front, yanking him closer. “Or I’ll punish you.”

Akira snakes his hands around to the small of Goro’s back, reveling in the addicting, familiar warmth of his skin through his thin turtleneck, listing forward to graze their noses together. “Promise?”

Something sparks in Goro’s sweet tea eyes and the pressure on Akira’s suspenders goes taut. “You wanna switch it up?”

Humming thoughtfully, Akira walks his fingers over to Goro’s hip, flicking the half-raised zipper. The idea is tempting, but— “Next time.” He casts a look over at the toys once again sitting out on the dresser. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” With a quick motion, he tugs Goro’s zipper all the way up, before trailing his hands around the waistband now snugly encircling his boyfriend’s middle. “And I’ve been so patient.”

“Yes, poor baby.” Letting Akira’s suspenders snap against his chest, Goro turns and snags the two black leather cuffs waiting on the nightstand, the cousins of the cuffs decorating his slim ankles. He turns back and presents the first one to Akira. “You’ve been so deprived.”

“I wouldn’t say _deprived_ —” Akira accepts the first cuff and loosens the buckle, sliding the soft leather open and holding it out for Goro to slip his slender wrist inside. “Spending two days in bed with you was a dream come true.”

Goro purses his lips down at Akira’s fingers tightening the thick bracelet against his skin. “It was very benevolent of Sakura-san to give you those days off.”

“He likes you.” Akira takes the second cuff and repeats the process, holding it open for Goro to permit himself to be shackled. “He’d never stand for me leaving you alone, even if I was just downstairs.” Indeed, Sojiro’s stormy expression when Akira explained the situation was telling enough on its own without the subsequent, gruff _it’s not like we’re busy, kid_. “It was a nice, unexpected vacation.”

“For you, maybe.” Goro rolls his wrist to test the cuff’s tightness and seems to find it satisfactory.

“Of course, I always prefer you up and about—” Akira draws Goro in with the hand still cradling his arm and smiles against Goro’s downturned mouth, “—and putting me in my place.”

“I can do that no matter what state I’m in.”

“Take the compliment.”

“That was a compliment?”

Pressing forward, Akira licks over Goro’s mouth, free hand sliding down to palm his ass through his skirt. Huffing theatrically, Goro opens for him, closing his teeth around Akira’s seeking tongue, and Akira shivers at the threat. Releasing Goro’s wrist, Akira drops his other hand to join the first, kneading suggestively, fingertips skimming along the smooth skin just under Goro’s pleated hem, and Goro leans into him with a moan, snaking his arms around Akira’s neck.

The kiss is deep and pointed, tongues twisting together, teeth tugging at lips before diving back in for more, and Akira is breathless when he pulls back after losing track of time in the wet cavern of his boyfriend’s mouth. Hot exhales mingling with Goro’s, he taps their foreheads together, blinking slowly into Goro’s glittering gaze.

“Ready?” he murmurs.

Goro scratches lightly at the nape of Akira’s neck, tracing through the wild curls. “Ready.”

Smirking, Akira peels himself away, leaving Goro flushed and panting. “In that case—” He drags an appreciative scan up and down his boyfriend’s body, taking in the long, pale lines of Goro’s bare legs, the slightest shadow of his bralette showing through his shirt, and the soft honey waves of his hair framing his ravenous expression, before pointing imperiously at the floor. “On your knees, Vice President Akechi.”

**Author's Note:**

> one note:  
> -people end BDSM sessions for lots of reasons, and safewording out of a scene is nothing to ever be ashamed of. i was hesitant to combine my desire to write a sickfic with a safeword use scenario, because, for the most part, scenes end because of something internal. either something goes wrong in the scene or someone has a reaction they didn't expect, or a million other things. something as severe and immediate as illness is rarely the cause for ending a scene early, though it is, of course, a valid reason to do so. i'm not trying to be an accurate resource on BDSM or anything, but i don't want to represent safeword use as something that only occurs or should only occur under external stressors. this is a pretty fantastical, unrealistic situation and i just wanted to clarify that for my peace of mind. any reason to use a safeword is a valid reason.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this exercise in semi-erotic navel-gazing <3
> 
> come see me on [tumblr](https://mistresseast.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/MistressEast)! I have a cc linked in my twitter bio and i'm easily prodded into sharing worldbuilding and story details about my work.


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